


Holy water cannot save you now

by apolakid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, F/M, I have ALWAYS wanted to use that tag, M/M, Makeouts, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Sylvain-centric, Unrequited, but make it horny, no beta we die like Glenn, somebody get sylvain a therapist, very very minor claude/byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24053152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolakid/pseuds/apolakid
Summary: “Oh my gosh,” her smile widens, her voice an octave higher; “Sylvain Jose Gautier, did you make out with Claude?”“Hilda!” He exclaims, covering her mouth with his hand to stop her from laughing. “Of course not!”“But did you want to?” she manages to slip out of his hold. “I bet you did. He’s basically a dream husband. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that?” Sylvain dwells on that, longer than he has to. He thinks of the way Claude looks at him in the library, the intensity of his gaze-- he imagines it ripe with hunger, and feels just the slightest weakness in his knees.--or, Sylvain is a forest fire.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Sylvain Jose Gautier/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 32
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is for ianthe and pie, my enablers. also yes i went for golden deer and recruited sylvain IMMEDIATELY

They don’t talk. 

Sylvain knows a lot of things. He knows that his face, when angled gently to the left, shows all his features perfectly. He knows that the sweetest words he can give to a town girl is _you need a better man_ and _that man is me_ , but never those same words to a noble girl. He knows that if he stands at a specific spot in the academy, it’s a clear view of the window Manuela uses to look outside longingly. He knows what secrets look like in a person. 

He doesn’t know Claude, not in the sense he wants to. 

“Claude, what a pleasant surprise.” He says to the man in question, and Dammit, Hilda, did you get _caught --_ “Sylvain.” Claude replies, leaning against the bookshelf, eyebrow raised slyly. Sylvain knows he himself is an axe man, and he can throw Claude out of the goddamn window if he wanted to. Probably.

“Are you here to research something?” Claude says, and okay, Sylvain can tell he’s teasing, because he knows that much about this person. He’s only spoken to Claude, maybe three times, two in battle-- one right now. But Sylvain thinks of himself as a natural conversationalist. 

“Research something?” Sylvain starts. “Well, don’t you think I’m a model student.” 

Claude scoffs. “Yes, exactly. Model student Sylvain, that’s what I know you for.” 

Claude turns slightly, eyes flickering to the corners of the room. “Pretty good spot, don’t you think? I don’t think anyone who walks by that door can you see from here so easily.” He punctuates the last part of the sentence by looking at Sylvain dead in the eye, like there was something behind him only Claude could see. 

“That so.” It’s almost instinct at this point, for Sylvain to say and act so casually for someone he knows, in that instant, to be guarded. It’s battle reflexes in that way, where his mind thinks enemy instead of classmate; dangerous instead of friend. But they’re not trying to kill each other--not really-- it’s a spar, a challenge. It’s a physical game of tactics. Sylvain knows this. He knows Claude knows things. 

So why isn’t Claude saying anything? 

“Are you going to lecture me?” Sylvain asks, bites his tongue slightly before he pulls out an offensive nickname. That’s too low, even for him. “Lecture you?” Claude chuckles, almost as if he’s surprised by Sylvain’s confrontation. “And here I thought you were here to study. Perhaps you’re here for another reason, after all.” Cocky, alright. 

The corners of Sylvain’s mouth tense as he moves closer to Claude, as the latter’s figure refuses to be bothered by the movement. “And why are you here, then?” He asks. Sylvain knows Claude isn’t stupid--dim library, hidden spot. He hasn’t gotten that much taller but if he stood a certain way, his shadow swallows Claude’s body in the light. “Here to study…” Sylvain starts, his lips turning into a slight smirk, and only then does his body remember that it can touch Claude, that it can move closer and closer, until one of them has to step back-- until one of them backs away from each other, from the whole subject, “...or take someone’s place?” 

Something stirs in Claude’s eyes, and Sylvain thinks he’s got him, the Golden deer leader in his fingers. But it’s as if Claude’s body registers the options before Sylvain does, as Claude brings his hand to push Sylvain’s chest, with enough force to stop Sylvain’s body entirely. Their gaze never leaves each other. Whatever sparkle is in Claude’s eyes-- Sylvain realizes it’s confidence. Claude’s hand shifts upward slightly, almost to Sylvain’s neck, and Sylvain hates himself for looking at the touch. 

Sylvain knows he lost. 

He snaps his eyes back at Claude, who’s carrying the smirk Sylvain carried just a few moments ago. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sylvain.” 

“Oh, but you do. You just have to say it.” Sylvain tries, but Claude rolls his eyes and laughs. With his hand, he maneuvers their bodies to shift and all the candlelight sprawls on Claude’s face gracefully. “Oh, Sylvain,” he says, and Sylvain’s palms begin to feel sweatier, “do you want me to say _make me_?” In a second Claude grabs his collar and pulls violently, and Sylvain, on reflex, pulls away in shock. 

Claude laughs, again, like a victor who had known the outcome from the start. Sylvain spins, the library getting tighter. 

“Don’t come back here, Claude.” Sylvain warns, feeling the need to run his hand through his hair. He catches Claude’s face as the boy rakes his eyes over Sylvain’s body, raising one eyebrow again. Sylvain feels self-conscious suddenly, his own arm around the back of his neck as if it’s the only thing left holding him afloat. “What a command.” Claude says, “Not to brag, but aren’t I the leader here?” He smiles. _Aren’t I in control?_

Sylvain finds it himself to smile back, the way he does when he wants to leave a conversation. “Stop it.” He says gently, the way someone would say to someone walking on eggshells. Claude lets himself dwell on Sylvain’s lips, before slowly coming back to his eyes. It’s that sparkle again--something playful, charming, and dark. Sylvain bites his lip. 

“Make me.” 

Sylvain surges to Claude, a hunger he hadn’t known before taking over him, his hands moving to pin Claude down-- take him down, defeat him, devour his cocky, charming, beautiful, confidence. Yet Claude is unfazed, his arms pushing down, snapping them out of Sylvain’s desperate hold. _He’s stronger than he looks_ , is what Sylvain manages to think. Claude is more than he knows. 

Claude smiles, the bastard. 

“I’ll see you later, Sylvain.” Effortlessly, he slips out of Sylvain’s grasp. With another look, “be careful with yourself.” He says and walks away. Sylvain gapes as his leaving figure, with Claude waving his hand to bid Sylvain farewell. He has the gall to even wink as he disappears in the hallway. 

Sylvain lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

There’s a fire in him.

* * *

“Explain.” The word now is unsaid, but Sylvain knows Felix long enough. 

“Hello to you too, Felix!” He chirps. “How about a little kiss on the cheek?” 

A beat. “Like...when we were kids?” Sylvain tries again, playing with his tone. Bringing up their affectionate childhood usually gets a snappy reaction from Felix, usually from what Sylvain thinks is embarrassment. 

Silence, still. Okay, Felix is in a mood. “Practicing your death glare on me, buddy? Trying to see if I can combust in your e--” 

“What the hell, Sylvain!” Felix bursts. “The new teacher arrives in the Golden Deer house, and the next thing I know you’re. Switching. Classes?!” He emphasizes the last three words by jabbing his palm into Sylvain’s shoulder for each word. “Okay, first, ow,” Sylvain says, holding Felix’s hand, the latter swiping it out as if Sylvain’s touch personally offended him. “And second, have you noticed how hot the new teacher is?” He winks at Felix. “Plus, she’s got huge--” 

“Stop!” Felix snaps, fingers immediately going to the crease between his eyebrows. “Heart. I was gonna say heart.” Sylvain laughs. He moves his hand to his chest, and squishes it a little. Felix pulls out one of his most disgusted and disappointed looks just for Sylvain until Sylvain puts his hand away. “Do I need to remind you she’s our teacher? Are you going to follow her all the way to the clinic in the…” As Felix talks, Sylvain catches Hilda, her bright pink hair practically glowing in the garden. She turns, and catches his eye. “...dead of night while she’s drunk like professor Manuela…” Sylvain winks at her, “...and then proceed to-” Felix slows down with his sentence, and turns abruptly. “Wha-hey!” Sylvain protests. Hilda catches Felix’s gaze, and like a natural, smiles sweetly at him before turning her back. 

Felix doesn’t greet her in return, but turns back to Sylvain tensley. “Clearly, you’re enjoying the other house.” He says before moving away. “What, no, Felix--” Sylvain whines, following him, “what are you, jealous?” Felix freezes, his heels turning. “You’re aggravating.” he spits. “Yeah, yeah.” Sylvain chuckles, catching up now that Felix had stopped moving away. “And I _was_ listening! Teacher...clinic… Manue- wait, how do you even know that?” Felix crosses his arms again, refusing to look at Sylvain in the eye. “I just happened to be in the area. Training.” He scoffs, emphasizing the last word.

“Aww, were you worried about me?” Sylvain coos. “Worried that your best friend in the world was sick?” Felix lets out an _ugh_ before uncrossing his arms, then shoving them back to their original position. To Sylvain, he calls that movement the I-want-to-punch-you-but-I’m-better-than-that. “Why do I…” Felix exhales, “why do I even bother with you, Sylvain?” 

Okay, ouch. That hurt just a little bit. “C’mon, Felix. You know I’m kidding. Let’s have dinner together at the place you like?” A pause. “After your training?” Time to pull out the moves even if they barely work on Felix, Sylvain thinks, and pouts his mouth a little. Angles his face a bit to the left. That’s his cutest angle. “Fine.” Felix says. A victory. “You should be training too. Start taking these things seriously.” 

“Yeah, heard you the first few times.” Sylvain says. 

“You can train with me.” Felix offers, but Hilda walks past them, eyeing Sylvain. 

“Sure, yeah, hey, how about I get back to you on that?” 

“Wha-” 

“Bye, Felix! I’ll see you later!” 

“Sylv-” Felix ends his name with a sigh. 

Sylvain follows Hilda to a spot near the dorms. “Hilda,” he greets. “Sylvain,” she greets back. 

“Pretty girl like you, leading me to a spot like this,” He starts, moving closer as Hilda giggles, “something you wanna confess to me first?” He’s a breath away, but stands back to look at her expectantly. “Actually, there is.” Hilda says, after a beat. She brings her hands close to her face. Sylvain knows that move-- he’s seen her do it too many times when she can’t be bothered to do things. “I’m sorry for what happened in the library. Sometimes I can’t escape when Claude calls me out for not helping with the chores.” 

He laughs at that. Hilda knows she’s cute, and that move still works on Sylvain. “Yeah, that sounds like you.” 

“I did say I was just going to the library to look up something important,” Hilda huffs. “I was already going up the corridor and he just happened to be there. You know how he can be.” _No, I don’t know, actually,_ Sylvain’s mind supplies. Hilda changes the tone in her voice, “Hilda! Didn’t I hear Teach telling you you’re on stable duty?” Sylvain thinks it’s a pretty good Claude impression. Telling her to do something without actually telling her. “And then I said, Claude! I’m busy just, um. Just have to do something quickly. But I swear, Sylvain, it’s like he can see right through me.” Sylvain hums at that. 

“So what happened? Did you wait there long?” She asked. Sylvain moves to lean back next to the wall next to her. “He didn’t tell you? He was there.” He says. 

“He was there?!” She gasps, head whipping to his direction. “Oh my gosh,” her smile widens, her voice an octave higher; “Sylvain Jose Gautier, did you make out with _Claude_?” 

“Hilda!” He exclaims, covering her mouth with his hand to stop her from laughing. “Of course not!” 

“But did you want to?” she manages to slip out of his hold. “I bet you did. He’s basically a dream husband. Who wouldn’t want to make out with that?” Sylvain dwells on that, longer than he has to. He thinks of the way Claude looks at him in the library, the intensity of his gaze-- he imagines it ripe with hunger, and feels just the slightest weakness in his knees. 

“Are you blushing?” Hilda teases, leaning towards him until their arms touch. She isn’t subtle either, her elbow digs gently into his body with intent. He takes that as a signal, and wraps one arm around her shoulders, angles their bodies until they’re facing each other fully. “Maybe I’m blushing because I’ve got the cutest girl in the world here in my arms.” His voice lowers, “and she has the cutest giggle, the cutest lips, and…” his eyes trail down from her lips to her collarbone to, well, lower-- and licks his lips with intent. 

“Ooh, right here near the dorms?” Hilda whispers, “what if someone sees us, Mr. Gautier?” 

“I’m not too worried,” he replies, pressing soft kisses along her jaw, the tiniest of her goosebumps rising to meet his lips. “Not like I’m dating anyone at the moment.” 

“As if that would ever stop you, _ah--_ ” Sylvain drags his hands around Hilda’s waist, digging his palms into her blouse. She turns her neck slightly to watch him be playful with her skin. “--Jerk.” She remembers to finish her sentence as she holds his face in her hands, and kisses him deeply. He’s known Hilda long enough for them to not clash their teeth as he moans into her mouth. 

Before the frequent makeouts, it’s the conversation in the hallway that changes their relationship into a play. “I like you a lot, Sylvain,” he recalls her saying then. “I just don’t want to marry you.” That’s fine to Sylvain, he wouldn’t want to marry him either. And he wouldn’t want to marry Hilda after that-- not when he’s found respect for her. He learned to like her company, eventually as the months grew and the battles left them more intimately with the knowledge that they could die sooner. And it’s great, it works for him, the warm press of her chest against his chest, her back against the wall: Hilda will never want a relationship with him, and he’ll never miss any of her kisses. He can never hurt Hilda, even in his roughness: for Hilda will never allow herself to be hurt by him. If he bites, she’ll kick his back. She’ll leave on her terms, and they’ll act like it never happened. Nothing will hurt. It’s the perfect relationship. 

But something’s missing. 

Hilda smiles into the kiss as Sylvain hooks her leg around his hips. “Mm,” she moans appreciatively. Sylvain takes that as permission to let his hand trail lower, hiking up only beneath Hilda’s skirt. “You’re pretty excited, huh?” She says, letting her fingers play with the buttons on his collar. “Something got you all hot and bothered?” 

He moans deeply as she tightens her hold against his hips, grinding slightly. “Fuck, baby,” he sighs, it’s his turn to smile at her with a familiar want. “I didn’t get you in the library--” he says in between kisses, getting rougher and rougher with each press. 

The library, he thinks, we were supposed to fuck in the library. So imagine his frustration when Claude showed up, all cool and smug-- Claude, the leader, the one who can see right through him, the dream husband, with the charming smile without trying, with the piercing eyes, _make me_ \-- he grips Hilda tighter. “--let me make up for it.” He whispers, and closes his eyes.

He wants to wreck the _fuck_ out of Claude. 

“H-hey,” Hilda says, shattering his thoughts. “You’re being a little rough.” But Sylvain can’t stop now, he’s already being enveloped with a heat-- coursing through his body in waves. “Don’t worry about it, babe.” He says, and shushes Hilda with another kiss which she meets with a gasp. Her back hits the wall with a force as he digs his knee in between her thighs as she shudders. He wants more, he craves more, but he can’t open his eyes, he’s somewhere else now; his desperate fingers find the band of Hilda’s skirt and he attempts to pull it down until-- Hilda bites. 

Hilda takes the opportunity to swat his hands out of the way. “Are you out of your mind?” she snaps. Sylvain touches his lip and there’s a cut, alright. He’s back with her, as if to remind himself they’re near the dorms. She pulls her skirt back up-- he hadn’t even gotten the chance to look. “What’s gotten into you?” Hilda continues, but her voice softens as Sylvain doesn’t say anything back. “Well, we can’t just do that here. I mean, what about…” her eyes flicker behind Sylvain for a moment, “Claude!” 

Sylvain whips his head around and Hilda rushes to button back up her blouse. Sure enough, Claude stands there, a hand on his hip. It’s the position of authority, and Sylvain swallows tightly as Claude walks towards them. “Hilda!” Claude calls, although without a hint of anger or reprimand in his voice almost as if he’s just calling a friend. He’s _good_ , Sylvain thinks to himself as Claude walks towards them. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” Claude says casually, walking past Sylvain. Hilda isn’t sure how to act, her arms crossing. “Are you gonna lecture me?” She finally says. There’s a beat. 

“I--” Sylvain starts, say something, _anything_ \-- he tells himself, and briefly he remembers himself priding on his natural conversational talents. But before he can say anything else, Claude laughs, cutting off Sylvain’s thoughts. “Lecture you? Just come with me, I wanted to show you something.” He says, moving past her. Hilda sends a concerned look at Sylvain, but she follows Claude towards the pond. 

Sylvain watches them leave, seeing their body language turn into a natural banter. 

Claude hadn’t even looked at him. He just stood there as Claude walked past like he was nothing-- not even a glare for trying to get with Hilda, not even a look at the fact that Sylvain was flushed, unbuttoned, and bleeding? Sylvain presses his lips together, tasting his cut. He thinks of Claude looking at his lips in the library and as more blood comes out of his lower lip he thinks of someone licking them. He thinks of being pushed into a quiet corner, where hands map his skin and he opens, vulnerable, where it’s dark enough to let go. It’s a desire bubbling up into his throat from his stomach, and he knows, watching the bodies walk away in the distance, he’ll never be satisfied until he gets a taste of his wanting.

Only when he feels the sting on his palms does he realize he’s been clutching his hands into fists. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for taking 300 years to update..... it just be like that....

Sylvain dreams of Miklan. 

It isn’t an uncommon dream-- it isn’t unusual to dream of childhood, especially when said childhood isn’t the best. It’s a familiar scene: a young Sylvain lays in bed at night and thinks of the ways Miklan can kill him, like he’s counting down. The windows are like doors, and the walls if struck hard enough: everything’s a way out the way it is a way in. What matters isn’t what happens after, it’s what will he do now. 

So Sylvain thinks of himself as someone who lives in the present. And when Byleth tells him, _Sylvain, come here for a moment_ after class, he doesn’t hesitate to move towards her before his mind starts asking what he did this time to warrant his teacher calling him. 

“You were dozing off at class today.” she says. There’s a pause, like she’s expecting an answer for a question she didn’t ask. He isn’t sure if she’s critiquing him or if this is an entry point to a lecture, she says almost everything with the same tone in her voice. “Yeah?” he says instead, egging the conversation. “I guess I have been kind of sleepy lately. I’ll stay up next time.” 

“Have you been getting enough rest?” She asks. He considers the question. “Enough to keep on going. Why? Are you worried about me? My offer of comforting me still stands.” She crosses her arms, but it’s the reaction he expects from her at this point. “Don’t think this will distract me.” She says, surprisingly gently. “Go tell Claude you’re both on stable duty at the end of the week.” 

“With him?” Sylvain says, and Byleth’s mouth parts slightly. Only then does Sylvain realize that he must have spit those words out a bit harsher than he thought. “Sure, whatever you want, professor.” He says immediately, curling his lips into a casual smirk. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me.” He flirts playfully. He’s always known the professor to be observant, yet she doesn’t chase him as he starts walking out of the room. Still, he can feel her eyes on him, and if he doesn’t leave this room quickly they’ll pierce through him. 

“Sylvain.” She calls, a bit louder. He’s already one foot out the door but his leg hesitates to go even further. She must have seen that. His jaw tightens as he turns around, leaning on the doorway as he sends a perfect smile at Byleth. “Focus on your axe skills,” she says calmly. “I want to make you a protector.” 

Sylvain lets out a genuine laugh, as if it was the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Yeah, you got it.” He snickers, but as he meets her eyes, he stops laughing almost abruptly. She still has that blank expression-- one that Sylvain would rather tear away from. Byleth doesn’t say anything else to Sylvain turns and leaves. It’s no use dwelling on it, he thinks, after all he still has a message for Claude. 

* * *

He eventually spots Claude with Hilda and Lysithea having tea. They’re not hard to miss, because at this point he’s sure Claude and Hilda must have teased Lysithea about something since now she’s resorted to hitting them both in the arms. They’re laughing, and in that moment they seem like normal students to Sylvain, and this was a scene in any town. Like they weren’t burdened with nobility, with crests, or responsibilities too old for their young bodies, too young for their old minds. 

He feels a bit self-conscious watching them like that, as if despite the church being a holy ground this aura around them was holier, and that any disruption would mean to return to reality. Lysithea wacks Hilda’s tea out of her hand by accident, and it spills on her. “My uniform!” Hilda shrieks, causing everyone to look to her direction. Claude immediately lets out an involuntary wheeze and Lysithea stutters words between maintaining being angry and wanting to apologize. 

Claude is trying to say you have to _change_ , but his laughter keeps getting in the way of forming a complete sentence. He has that kind of uncontrollable laughter, like the way the lips quickly twist into a grin when he hears a good joke, the way his face scrunches into something like the sun-- it’s happiness. Sylvain can’t look away from the red tinge on Claude’s face. For a moment it’s that happiness that bubbles from ribs and stretches to Claude’s eyes and nothing else is real. 

But only for a moment. 

Sylvain feels like a sinner when Claude finally spots him in the corner of the garden hedges. 

The smile fades immediately, but when Claude turns to the girls he brings it back but it isn’t the same. “You should change.” He finally says. 

Sylvain watches as the two girls agree to go back to the dorms, and Claude glances back to Sylvain, checking if he’s still there, and stands. He makes an excuse, and even though Sylvain can’t hear, he knows what someone avoiding a conversation will look like and as Claude moves a different direction, the girls bid him bye for now. They part, and Sylvain takes it as an invitation to walk towards him. 

“Hey, Claude!” He calls, coming up behind the boy in question. 

“Sylvain.” Claude greets, but doesn’t look back, like he was expecting an approach and was already exiting it before it could happen. 

A part of Sylvain is insulted by that, _what, you don’t want to look at me now?_ But there’s an urge to rile Claude up a little, so he walks a little faster. “Two girls in one table, huh? Someone’s a popular ladies man. Should I be jealous?” He hears Claude huff at that. “I don’t know, should you?” He replies, but there’s humor in it. 

Class has been over for a while, so very few students are still roaming the corridors. Sylvain shuffles closer, almost in front of Claude. “You’re a hard guy to talk with, aren’t you?” Sylvain eggs on, “throwing my sentences back to me. Like you’re trying to distract me.” 

Claude lets out a small laugh. “Wouldn’t you know.” 

“I walked right into that one, huh?” Sylvain exhales. He walks in front of Claude, blocking his path. “So, what, you want me to walk right into you now?” Claude replies, not missing a beat. Sylvain feels warmth on his face. 

“Are you mad because I was close to coming onto your girl?” 

“On my--” Claude can’t hide his laughter. “Hilda?” 

Sylvain awkwardly gives Claude some time to laugh at that. “Hilda isn’t my girl. Frankly, she’s her own woman, she can do whatever she wants. Or, you know, whoever.” 

There’s something uncomfortable about laughing with Claude, Sylvain realizes. When Claude smiles, there’s something missing-- and it’s enthralling. “Maybe you’re just keeping your relationships vague so I won’t know what you’re feeling.” Sylvain challenges. 

“Oh, yeah? Then tell me,” Claude fixes himself easily, and Sylvain realizes what Claude’s doing walking towards him like that, closing the distance between them slowly. Sylvain meets him halfway. “What are you feeling right now?” Claude continues. It’s a layered question. Sylvain resists the urge to gasp at his body flush against him.

“I feel…” From the angle, Sylvain can see Claude’s collarbones peek out of his collar from this angle and he looks away briefly. He knows Claude notices that. “...like you’re hiding something.” 

“What would you know?” Claude asks. 

“I know you don’t know anything about me.” Sylvain says lowly. 

“And you, me.” Claude tilts his head with confidence. 

It’s back-- the heat: an irrational force coming in waves. Sylvain knows his reputation-- skirt chaser, flirt, heartbreaker-- and he knows well enough that he’s earned that gossip because he’s good at what he does. And these corridors are empty. 

So he snakes a finger on Claude’s elbow, the pressure only of a feather. Claude immediately looks at Sylvain’s hand as his thumb plays with the joint. Sylvain smirks as Claude shoots him a look, dead in the eyes. 

There are secrets in Claude. And he’s this close to either unlocking them, or breaking him open. 

“Did you come to me in particular, Sylvain?” Claude asks, before Sylvain can do anything else.

“I…” Oh, shit. Sylvain stops touching Claude. “I did, actually. I had a message for you.” 

Claude looks slightly taken aback.“Oh. Didn’t expect that.” 

“The professor just said--”

“Teach? She had a message for me?” Claude takes a step back, tone completely different. 

“It’s nothing,” Sylvain says, a little too fast, just enough to reassure Claude for him to come back and continue-- “we’re just on stable duty this week.” Continue what? He finishes his sentence before he allows his mind to wander in places he didn’t want to question. 

“Oh.” Claude nods. 

There’s a silence. 

“Yeah.” Sylvain says, like a late reply. 

He feels Claude starting to move away, but there’s a desperation in Sylvain, whether he’s acutely aware of it or not. “I have to g--” Claude starts, but he’s cut off. 

Heroes tell tales of their bodies moving before they even decide to do so in battle. It’s all adrenaline--even in training they know this. Sylvain’s done enough training with his arms to know the depth of what he can grab, and what he can push away, before his mind can process it. There’s something about Claude, he thinks. There’s something I want to unlock, there’s something I want to destroy. 

And he’s so close. 

And this is when epiphanies have room to enter: I want to kill this man, Sylvain thinks, and yet even before the sentence finishes he dives right into Claude’s lips. 

I hate him, he thinks, choking himself in a kiss. 

Claude is a stone for the first second, but he kisses back with the same fever as Sylvain. Sylvain moans as Claude snakes a hand into his hair. Their teeth clash a little but it’s worth it to try and knock Claude out of his balance. There’s no room for coming up for air-- Sylvain clasps onto Claude’s lips like it holds all his answers, like there is a god in the cathedral of his mouth, and nothing else is real.

But it’s only a moment. 

When Sylvain pulls away, he’s shocked-- and that shock is reflected in Claude. 

They don’t say anything. They breathe as if they have been underwater for far too long. There’s a silence, and it’s stretching, and in a game of chess, in a game of tactics, it’s dangerous to keep the time on for too long, someone will have to face the consequences if you’re too slow, if you’re too fast, before someone flips the board. 

Sylvain runs away. 

* * *

“Please, please, _please_ , forgive me?” 

“No.” 

“Please!”

“Get out of my way.” 

“Felix!” 

Sylvain pouts his hardest as he blocks the doorway from a pissed off Felix. 

“Think of it like this-- I ran here right? So of course I knew this dinner was important. I ran so fast it was like training.” 

“You can’t keep insisting on dinner then forgetting about it.” Felix snaps. 

“I didn’t forget! Plus I…” It was partly true. When Sylvain found himself again after leaving Claude, his first thought was Felix. And then the fact he had bullied Felix again into dinner together, which he was currently late for. “...I was just going through something. But then I came here immediately after.” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “I don’t care.”

Sylvain’s shoulders slump a little. He had bursted in the town restaurant just as Felix had been on the way out and Sylvain, breathless, pushed him back in. He stays like that for a while until Felix groans. “You might as well move if you’re just going to block the way.” 

Felix walks back in and yes, great, Sylvain will take that-- that’s a victory for the night. They sit down together and Sylvain smiles like the happiest in the world. Felix is sitting on the chair as if he’s ready to get up, his legs already at an angle where he can walk out if needed. But he’s still sitting down, and Sylvain will eat what he is fed. They aren’t regulars per se-- but they’re memorable enough for the staff to know which meal they always prefer. So Sylvain waves at the chef, and she understands. Felix doesn’t bother greeting or acknowledging the exchange, letting them fall into a silence. 

For Sylvain, it’s a space both comfortable and familiar enough. 

“You’re so fucking spoiled.” Felix says, eyeing Sylvain suspiciously. 

“Haha. Thank you, Felix.” Sylvain replies sweetly. Felix lets out a noise of disgust. 

“And, if it makes you feel better, I was only late because the professor asked something of me.” No circumstance is going to let Sylvain tell Felix, of all people, about Claude. His jaw tightens at the thought of even letting anyone know. He fumbles with the hem of his shirt thinking-- would Claude tell anyone? How would he start an explanation for what that was? 

“You’re getting along with her.” Felix mumbles, stopping Sylvain’s thoughts.

“Yeah, she even said she wanted to make me focus on my axe skills-- make me a protector.” 

“A protector?” Felix smirks. “I didn’t know the new teacher was blind.” 

Sylvain laughs at that. 

“You can’t even remember the people you’re going to meet within a day, how are you going to be a protector?” Sylvain laughs a little weaker. Classic Felix insult. 

“Hey, I can work hard! These muscles,” he flexes his biceps with the extent of his uniform fabric, “don’t train themselves.” He sneaks a look at the girl at a table near them to check if she’s looking. She catches his glance, so he winks anyway. 

“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Felix says, unimpressed. “You wouldn’t even last the end of the week as a protector.” 

The end of the… 

Immediately, Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. Byleth put them on _stable duty_. Together. Claude, taking care of horses, riding-- he’s going to stop there. Stopping right there. 

Felix knits his eyebrows together suspiciously as their food arrives at the table, and Sylvain hadn’t said thank you to the chef. She stands there awkwardly while Sylvain stares at an empty space, and Felix almost whacks his companion’s head, but instead he grunts out a thanks to her until she leaves. 

“Sylvain. Food.” Sylvain snaps back to Felix, then the food. “Uh.” He replies, and then settles for grabbing a utensil. 

“What is wrong with you.” Felix says, although sounding more of a statement than a question. “Aside from your...regular stupidity.” 

“Nuffin.” Sylvain replies, opting to just stuff the food in his mouth. Felix watches Sylvain eat, then begins to eat slowly. It’s mostly silent when Sylvain isn’t the one doing all the talking, but he’s known Felix for so long that he’s comfortable with just eating with him. And yet, he’s plagued with...whatever happened with Claude. 

Of all the students he could have fooled around with, did it have to be someone whose presence he couldn’t stand? Sylvain takes the knife and drags it across the meat, imagines the tea party, the way Hilda and Lysithea lean in as Claude charms his way through them the way a snake slithers to rodents. The light on his face, the effortless beauty on his features, the way Lysithea can tell him he’s the worst-- and he can laugh through it like nothing. And most of all-- Sylvain chews his food, letting his teeth clash before he swallow-- how Claude is still so loved. And how he knows, that despite everything, he’s loved by those two, by the whole House, even. 

It doesn’t make sense, Sylvain thinks. Maybe he shouldn’t have left the Blue Lions. He isn’t like Claude. Sylvain is three years older than Claude, but when Claude looks at him, Sylvain knows the difference between them is unbearable. There’s something in his eyes that reminds Sylvain, this man is a threat. 

He’s a natural charmer, and Sylvain’s been faking the game for far too long.

“I might consider changing classes.” Felix says. The statement makes Sylvain perk up. “What?” He says, suddenly leaning into Felix’s space. Felix coughs into his hand, facing away as Sylvain realizes how close he is and backs down. “It’s not for you...if that’s what you’re thinking.” Felix mumbles. 

“No, yeah, of course.” Sylvain dismisses; he doubts Felix would do that just for him. “But what brought this on?” 

“I like the professor’s technique. She’s good with swords.” 

“I--” Sylvain lets out the stupidest smile. “I’m so happy.” 

“Whatever.” 

He was going to be in class again with Felix. A part of him is still wary of the changes Felix had gone through-- mostly on how determined he is to become stronger. But sometimes, and he’ll never tell Felix, when he sees him he thinks of a small boy, tear-stained with leaves in his hair, asking to die with him. How could Sylvain say no to that? He isn’t an older brother-- and he’ll never know what it means to have one aside from the sound of breaking glass and the imprint of a body hitting the water in a well in the winter. But he sees how big his hands are against Felix’s when their pinkies hold together, how tight their little fingers grip. Felix kept living. So Sylvain did, too.

He’ll never break in front of Felix. So Sylvain smiles, even when Felix won’t, and even if Sylvain doesn’t want to.

* * *

It’s awkward. 

He’s watching Claude make small talk with Byleth as they make their way to the stables after class. She gives him the softest of smiles as the three of them walk together, letting Claude chatter as she nods. Sylvain chimes in every now and then, like a scratch in an old record, or a caterpillar chewing in a bee’s flower. But the professor doesn’t mind. He hopes. 

She reminds them to report to her when they’re done, and leaves them to their own devices. 

“I’ll get the feed.” Claude says, after petting one of the horses. 

“Right.” Sylvain replies, not looking at Claude. “I’ll… replace the water.” 

They manage to do their jobs, making small talk with the horses instead of each other. They actually finish a bit earlier. When Sylvain does tasks with the others in Golden Deer, they sometimes take a while-- mostly he thinks it’s because they actually have conversations. Sylvain and Claude are talkers, but there’s nothing to say. Or there’s too much to say, and too little explanations to say out loud. 

Claude finally starts a conversation when they move the last horse back to the stable. 

“Look… Sylvain--” 

“Do you need help getting down from there?” Sylvain cuts. Of course Claude doesn’t need help getting down from _a horse_ , there are saddles for a _reason_ , but Sylvain realizes what’s worse than not talking to Claude about it is talking to Claude about it. Claude raises his eyebrows at him. 

“Alright.” Claude smiles, but there isn’t much humor in it. Dammit, Sylvain thinks. Claude reaches for Sylvain’s hand and he takes it, pulling Claude down. Claude gets down on the ground, and Sylvain is hyper aware of his clammy hands. 

“What happened the other night--” 

“Ah, we,” Sylvain fakes a nonchalant tone, the way he tells girls he can find another guy with a Crest, “don’t have to talk about it.” He ends it with a smile, rubbing his neck with his free hand. 

“I wanted to tell you it was a mistake.” 

Oh. 

Harsh, Claude. 

“I know what you mean.” Sylvain says instead. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to do any of that.” It’s half true. 

“I’m glad.” 

“Me too.” 

There’s still a grip on Sylvain. 

“Claude,” he starts, the grip wavering until Claude can pull away. Some part of this alone-ness with Claude opens Sylvain. It’s the same feeling as walking home with a girl with no strings attached to any of them-- if they’re walking home late they’re just two people, and there’s a thrill of a secret, of a bond that only two of them will share. Sometimes, he thinks that’s what gets people to kiss in the dark, in a closet, in a cathedral when the crickets sleep. It’s not quite honest, but it’s raw. It’s vulnerable. It’s easy to blame on the night. The thrill passes on like wind from in between their bodies until they have no choice but to enveloped in it.

“I don’t like you.” Sylvain continues. 

“Haha. You wouldn’t be the first one.” Claude chuckles. 

A beat. Claude locks the horse back in the stables, and the two of them begin to walk to the faculty. Just before they leave the stables, Sylvain feels it again, the need, the electricity of being with Claude. 

“Do you think you’re a good person?” Sylvain asks, and it’s the first time in a while he can look at Claude in the eyes. 

“Why? Are you afraid of me?” Claude retaliates-- when did he get so close? 

It was a mistake, Sylvain repeats in his head. 

But when Claude’s lips are on his again, he reminds himself that he’s a man of the present. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me as byleth: uhh you get stable duty, you get stable duty, you get st


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this was a short chapter! just felt better to cut it here for now, hehe

Claude is a forest, and Sylvain is a fire. 

When he slams Claude against the wall, Claude allows himself to be slammed only to pull Sylvain in closer. Sylvain’s hands roam around Claude’s body, fumbling with the fabrics and jewelry adorned in his uniform. Claude moans as he places his arms around Sylvain’s shoulders as if to ask--  _ are you strong enough? _ \-- before using it as leverage to wrap his legs around his hips. 

They kiss like that for a while, before they knock down all the items on a table with a chorus of clangs, which they’ll pick up later, because how can Sylvain concentrate when Claude drags his tongue across his lips, asking to be let in? Sylvain lets Claude sit on the table as he unclasps his cloak and  _ shit _ , Claude just grinded on him-- 

How is Claude doing this to him? 

When Sylvain leans down, Claude pulls his hair from his scalp. Sylvain groans heavily into their kiss, his hands flailing to grasp the table at the jolt. “Mm, you like that?” Claude pulls harder-- there is no chance Claude hadn’t noticed that. It stirs within Sylvain again, how he wants nothing more than to pound him into the earth. He sinks his tongue in, drinking him in-- drowning in him. 

When Sylvain has sex for the first time, he is young and moon-glazed by the windowsill of a noble girl. Sylvain had always known he was beautiful, for he had always let himself believe his parent’s words. When the girl-- Sylvain can’t even remember her name, just her face, hands, and warmth-- takes his hand and drags it lower, Sylvain allows himself soft touches, circling his finger with the slightest pressure. 

He must have liked her then, Sylvain recalls, as she had clutched her hands onto the bed sheet. _ Do you like it when I do this _ , Sylvain taunted her in whispers, butterfly kisses on her neck,  _ tell me how much you like it. _ When he lets his tongue trace the circle of her nipple, she thrusts and begs. 

“What do you want?” He asks her, breathless, his fingers in her sticky warmth. 

“You know I want, Sylvain.” She lets out a tiny ah as Sylvain hits a spot. 

“You want more, baby?” Sylvain teases her by letting his finger out and dragging it on her clit. 

She cries at the loss of contact-- “I want more, Sylvain--” 

“Do you want me?” The corner of his lips twist slightly, into something like a smirk. 

“Yes,” she exhales, “please.” 

“I don’t know,” Sylvain huffs, the red tinge spreading across his body, “you don’t sound like you want me.” 

“I do!” she’s quick to beg, wrapping her legs around Sylvain’s body. “I want you-- I want you, please--” 

The bed creaks as he enters her. After that, Sylvain hasn’t let go of the feeling. His hands on a warm body, his body cupped in the heat of gentle roughness, his spit in the mouth of wanting. In the act he is naked, all of what makes Sylvain who he is stripped bare and thrown onto the floor. He’s removed every single one through every button being unbuttoned: in the bedroom there is no war, no Crests, no murderous brothers, no doubts, no marriage, no kingdom. Instead, there is Sylvain as he is: a body, wanted. 

And they love him for it. 

He doesn’t need to dwell on it-- the hands come from every corner to hold him, to remind him how it feels to be held. The girls dangle in his mind even until they no longer become girls, just light, a high: and it’s what he loves about it. They give him nothing but the pleasure of a poorly-masked desire, and he knows they let each other be used by it. He charms himself to them like a snake over the hunger for an apple he knows he will never run out of. 

But the feeling is always gone in the morning. 

The morning after Sylvain has sex for the first time, he leaves through a window. Sylvain may not have remembered her name, but he’d always know she was proposed to someone else. 

Sylvain had never needed to think about where the act goes after, which is a behavioral pattern Ingrid, Felix, and even his Highness had never failed to remind him of. But it’s not important to Sylvain anymore-- who they are after is only a shadow of a thrill, both the beginning and the end of a cycle he can’t escape. 

But Claude is… for lack of a better word, unusual. Sylvain wants to say it was boredom, just like with many girls his initial reaction is to flirt with them immediately, begrudgingly Sylvain knows that that’s what most of them go for, anyway. He isn’t as dumb as he makes himself out to be, but he’s smart enough to know the lines of an I hate you to an I want you. Despite many lovers, Sylvain knows that desire isn’t long-lasting, and if anything, his whispers of want are just for himself. Ultimately, the sex will give him the control of how long he can play with it, still. 

Yet when Claude lips curl into their kiss, to what Sylvain realizes is a smile-- he’s smiling-- Sylvain begins to hope it isn’t boredom. As if to deny that hope, Sylvain shoves his tongue hard in Claude who shows his appreciation by wrapping his hands back in red locks. Was it really boredom that allowed him to part his mouth slightly, greet a moan with that smile? Was it boredom that made Sylvain hold onto Claude and pull him in so tender? Kiss me, is all Sylvain wants to say, over and over as he topples on top of Claude. Kiss me all night, Claude replies through a flick of a wet tongue, and when he bites the bottom of Sylvain’s lip enough to bruise, Sylvain rushes into him like a wave hungry for the shore. 

“Take this off.” Sylvain orders in hushed whispers-- but orders don’t work on Claude that way. Claude, with his strength, shoves Sylvain to his back. 

“You want it that bad?” Claude teases as Sylvain gasps. Claude positions himself on Sylvain’s lap as Sylvain takes the opportunity to fumble with Claude’s thighs. Sylvain can play this game: he trails his fingers against Claude’s waist. “You want me to do it for you, babe?” He smirks, lifting his hips just enough. Just like the girls, just like the high: the desire’s been washing over him, the romancing of power to keep him afloat. Sylvain knows what power looks like in an act of casual love. 

“Watch me.” Claude commands-- and every footing Sylvain has shifts as he succumbs to watching Claude. He’s frozen underneath, his eyes are hazed as Claude’s weight keeps him steady. 

Sylvain knows what power looks like and he’s watching it unfold, unbutton, and unclasp in front of him. He doesn’t have the power, not with Claude. And yet Sylvain moans at the sight. 

“What do you want?” Claude asks, fingers teasing at the waistband of Sylvain’s pants, his back arched in a sinful angle. 

When Sylvain answers, he knows it isn’t real, the game was always in Claude’s favor. When the two of them tumble on the floor, slick with passion, Claude is only letting him think he’s in charge. In every orchestrated movement, every touch is composed. And when Sylvain’s hand slithers across Claude’s neck, watching Claude bite his lip at the contact as Sylvain pushes his fingers to wrap around it-- his question is unsaid: will you trust me? 

Claude answers only with the arching of his back, beautiful, looking Sylvain in the eye-- as if to say, for now. 

* * *

Sylvain’s just finished chatting with two girls at the dining hall when Hilda finds him. 

“There you are!” she chimes, taking a seat next to him. One of the girls eyes her suspiciously, while the other one frowns as they both take their leave. “Hilda! Beautiful as always.” He greets, and she winks. “If I’d known you were coming here, I would have eaten slower.” He laughs, gesturing to his plate, almost empty. Hilda sticks her tongue out playfully. “I’m not hungry, anyway!” 

“So, what brings the lovely Hilda to me?” He winks, chewing the last of his meal. “Well, we haven’t been bumping into each other recently.” She pouts, “even when we’re not on any duty this week.” 

“Haha. I’m sorry. We can always fix that right n-” He leans in, only to get pushed back by Hilda. 

“No,” Hilda laughs, drawing out the ‘o’, “you just ate!” 

“What!” Sylvain half-heartedly whines, despite not having plans to push any further. Sylvain knows Hilda --and Claude, he mutters-- have that strange observant ability of theirs, and it’s only Hilda that he’ll forgive for not saying anything outright. 

“I thought you would be spending more time with Felix since he transferred.” Hilda says. 

“Felix? That’s what you came here to talk to me about?” 

Hilda’s eyebrow shoots up just slightly, but Sylvain’s been in close proximity enough times with her that he notices it, and knows it’s code for I’m-trying-to-get-you-to-do-something, usually for her benefit. “What do you want to say, Hilda?” 

“Okay, you got me. I just noticed you haven’t really been… around, if you know what I mean.” 

“Aw, did you miss me?” 

Hilda ignores it. “I’m kind of glad to see you’re still talking to girls,” she pauses, “like the jerk you are.” Sylvain chuckles. “But still, I haven’t really seen you with a girlfriend.” 

“Hilda, if you’re asking if I’m okay, I’m perfectly fine.” Sylvain isn’t lonely. He’s repeated the phrase enough times to make it real, he’s filled in the gaps through his chatter and flirts. “And if you’re worried about me not having a girlfriend, you’re always welcome to take the position.” 

“Aw, Sylvain! My brother would tear you to pieces.” 

Yikes. Sylvain suppresses a shudder. “A no would have been okay.” He says, to Hilda’s amusement. 

“And dating you sounds like work! I’d really rather not.” She sighs, dramatically. 

“We’ve had this conversation before.” 

“Well, I have other things to do now,” she says, getting up. “But if you and Claude--” 

“What about me and Claude?” He cuts, fast enough for her to stop her sentence. 

“Um, I was just going to say if the two of you aren’t busy, you could help me out…” she trails off, eyeing Sylvain worridley. “I saw you two talking the other day, I thought you two were getting closer.” She ends her explanation like a question, almost as if she wasn’t sure herself of the sentence she was speaking. 

A familiar wave of anxiety curls its way into Sylvain but he brushes it off with a rub on his neck. “Oh,” he says, followed by a small heh. Hilda is silent for a little while, but she smiles at Sylvain, and he smiles back. It’s no secret that they can see past each other’s acts. One of them should say something, but the milliseconds pass without Sylvain sure if he’s breathing. 

“I care about you, Sylvain,” Hilda finally says, her fingers playing with the loose threads on her uniform, “but if… anything happened with Claude,” she doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Sylvain knows. 

He’s getting upset over nothing. It’s not like he knows what he and Claude are right now, the most talk they’ve had this past week have been a knowing look, that somehow trails downwards, only to shift away. 

It’s weird…right? Is what Sylvain’s mind has been re-asking himself. He and Claude fuck like rabbits for a night and then they don’t talk to each other? With no explanation, no warning, no cuddle after? And since then it’s all Sylvain’s been thinking about, when he touches skin too soft, when he sneaks into the dorms in early morning, when he’s with anyone that doesn’t pull his bottom lip with a cruel bite only to kiss it better. It’s as sinful as tobacco, a bitterness in Sylvain’s tongue. What was that? And why did he want more? 

“You don’t like him.” Hilda whispers, standing now. It comes off as more of a statement than an accusation.

There’s no use in pretending to her. “I don’t.” 

He hates how Claude could do this to him. 

“You think he knows?” He asks her. 

She thinks for a while. “Maybe.” 

There’s something ominous about how the word comes out of her mouth, but Sylvain grins and bears it. He feels his teeth clench and his body immediately moves to walk. His steps feel cloudy, but he still manages to greet back everyone who greets him, as if he’s on autopilot. 

Sylvain comes back to himself when he realizes he’s in front of the training grounds. He stares at the metal doors, and reaches to push it open. Maybe he should blow off some steam-- the other way of blowing off steam. His arm stops. 

The other way of blowing off steam? Was it possible that Claude--

“Hello, Sylvain.” 

The metal doors open gently, and a face comes into view from inside. 

“Oh, professor!” He smiles. 

“The doors open both ways.” She says, pulling them instead to not hit Sylvain. He tries not to gape at her strength. “Are you going to come in?” 

Sylvain swallows. “Nah, just came to see you.” He winks at her, an automatic response at this point.

“You’ve seen me now.” Byleth says. “What after? Did you want to talk?” 

“I’d love to talk with you anytime.” He wants to slap himself. 

He shouldn’t be saying anything, and yet his tongue betrays him. 

“Ok.” Byleth moves away from the door and stands in front of him expectantly. 

A pause. Oh, she meant now. Even Sylvain can’t deny it’s awkward-- she’s been here for a while, but she still pulls stunts like this that remind Sylvain she’s still just trying to be a normal person socializing here. He appreciates her, still, even not in a flirtatious manner. He sees her talk to each of her students when she can, and she’s been better at starting a conversation. He can’t help but feel a fondness for her, professor or not. 

“Us? Standing in the corner like this? People might talk, professor.” He teases, keeping his tone playful. She frowns a bit, but her face returns to a natural pokerface. 

“Is everything okay, Sylvain?” She asks, her head bowing slightly. It’s another one of the things Sylvain likes about Byleth: she’s genuine. Despite how subtle her reactions are, Sylvain can tell she’s observant, and that she cares about her students-- and that she cares about him. It’s both dangerous as it is charming. But just this once (out of many times he’ll say that), Sylvain allows him to slip his guard just a little bit. 

He huffs out a smile in defeat. “I’ve just been feeling… distracted.” It’s the right word. When Claude isn’t there, he’s thinking about him. And when Claude is there, he’s thinking about how no one else should be there with him. At night, he imagines a hand on a neck, and everything rushes back to him. 

“Is it the mission?” Byleth continues. 

“No, I told you, you don’t have to worry about that.” Sylvain chuckles. 

He sees Byleth’s brows knit together a little. “Dating?” 

“Something like that.” He pauses. “You know, professor, even I can get upset in my dating life. I guess I came here to blow off some steam, or something.” The last thing Sylvain wants to do is ask for advice from Byleth, or anyone. Once again, Sylvain’s been playing a game. He’s not about to let all of that fall because of anomaly-- an anomaly named Claude, who Sylvain isn’t sure of how long Claude’s been playing, and at this point, what game they’re playing to begin with-- and if they’re the only players. 

“It’s a good idea. If you don’t want to talk about it, we can train together.” Byleth says. 

Sylvain flushes unexpectedly, but passes it off with a cough. “Wait, I didn’t think that through.” 

“Maybe you can talk to me about it after we spar.” Byleth’s eyes light up with the thought of fighting again. Sylvain smirks at her brightened aura. 

“An invitation to be the professor’s sole attention! I’m a lucky man.” He finds himself joking. Why not, his mind supplies, it’s a good distraction. “You sure you’re up for it? You did just come out of there, you know.” 

“I can handle it.” Byleth nods, and they make their way inside the training grounds. When he holds the training lance, a part of Sylvain feels grounded in it. He wonders if anyone feels this way-- that sometimes it’s the hurtful things that remind them they’re capable of something. Ever since joining Byleth’s class, he’s been exposed to more battles that have been a bit close to life threatening. The battlefield feels like a dream, and after the battles are just snippets of a life he can’t commit to. Not with everything going on. The battlefield has no space for poets or fools-- it’s only logic, tactics, and strength. The only feeling Sylvain would be allowed to have is hurt or pride. After the battle, there’s only a shadow of Sylvain. 

Sylvain pushes the thoughts down. For now, Byleth is swinging her sword from a distance, checking to see the swiftness of her blade. An excitement flows within him, and he smiles a bit while gripping his lance. Training with the professor is… an experience, he might even call it fun-- a different kind, something that promises something different and long-lasting. Training with the professor is a promise to be better, and with every clash and dodge, he can feel his bones growing stronger. As if this is what should really matter, his bones, his beating heart. Training with the professor is a conversation where he is telling her, I’m trying to be better, and she’s telling him, I see you. He’s dripping in sweat, frustrated at how good she is with a blade, but he’s thankful. Sylvain isn’t completely sure of comfortable with his current relationship with Byleth, but he concludes that he’s happy to at least be with her on missions, and all the missions after. Never mind the rest of the kingdom, the girl he will eventually marry, and the people he wouldn’t get to, the decisions he can’t make. 

“Is that all you got, Sylvain?” Byleth taunts after his fourth fall. 

“Come on, professor!” He whines. 

“We’ll have to train you harder for the upcoming mission.” He knows she’s teasing. His lip curls into a tired smile. It’s a good place to be in at least. Not even Claude crosses his mind in momentary bliss. Just him, the professor, and the song of strength. 

At the end of the month, Sylvain kills his brother. 


	4. Chapter 4

A bad dream coming to life is what he calls it, but the dreams nowadays barely come if at all. 

Sylvain carries out everything well the next week, even when his classmates ask if he’s okay. He is okay-- it isn’t as if he’s had any lasting feelings of redemption for Miklan. His parents barely even mention Miklan in their letters, almost as if he was a forgotten memory to them, and a ghost to Sylvain. They are both his father’s sons, but it’s Sylvain his parents kept. It didn’t matter to them if a tiny Miklan had made his steps into a grand crib to find a baby Sylvain, bright eyed and wobbly, and if Miklan had reached in to cup Sylvain’s smooth face in curiosity as if to realize this is the flesh of my flesh-- this is my brother, and if Sylvain had brought his little fingers and whined at the contact, not realizing yet that this tenderness with each other was a privilege.

They never asked to be in a competition. Sylvain never asked to be put on a throne, to fill shoes that always felt too heavy. He never asked for his father’s rough hands ruffling through his hair, telling him: my boy, he’s a charmer, he’s so strong; only to look away from his eldest son. And when Sylvain digs his axe into a monster, there’s only one voice echoing in his mind. My brother, he says after the battle. Despite the scars, the black magic plaguing them. The beast was flesh of his flesh, his brother.

Sylvain feels almost nothing plunging the axe. 

And after that, he thrusts it again. And again. And again. Even after the body no longer spasms. 

“He’s dead, Sylvain.” Byleth has to tell him. She holds his bloody hand until he lets go of the weapon. 

During the aftermath of the battle, he stares at the horizon for a bit too long, but maybe that was enough to free Miklan from what they had no choice from. He watches Byleth and Claude talk over it a bit, and refuses to acknowledge the glances being made his way. Regret refuses to settle in him-- Sylvain has no space for ghosts, especially the ones that have tried to hurt him too many times, until even death feels like a memory. There is no corpse to return to the Gautiers-- and there are no flowers to leave for a non-existent grave. Instead, he had stood in front of the body, now withered with magic, mucus-like blood erupting from its dried pores. 

He isn’t like Miklan. Sylvain can sleep at night. And if he can do it with higher walls around him, even better. There’s no need to see him under the mask to reveal a cage of wasps for where his skin should be. 

“Want to talk?” Claude asks, his tone light and playful, like gentle knocking on a gritty door. Sylvain turns to see Claude standing behind him, the setting sun framing him like a halo. 

“Caring about me now?” Sylvain taunts, but it lacks the heat he wished it had. “Unlike you.” 

“I’m still a house leader.” Claude says, moving closer to him. “Technically, I have a responsibility to make sure the students under me are okay.” 

“We don’t talk.” Sylvain scoffs.

“We don’t, do we?” Claude says back. 

A silence. 

“I’m fine, Claude.” 

“Are you?” 

A vein within Sylvain is twitching. 

“Yes.” He stresses. 

Claude’s got a calculating stare, and Sylvain feels it heavy on him. 

“Then I shouldn’t push.” Claude concludes, and begins to walk away. Just like that, like it was simple to refuse Sylvain. Claude says the sentence like an exhale of a breath he’s been holding on for too long. 

In slow motion, Sylvain watches Claude turn away. Claude’s gaze is already far from him the minute his foot turns in the grass. It hits Sylvain like a pile of a thousand boulders. “Claude--” Sylvain starts, reaching until he can grab Claude’s elbow. With a force, Claude is pulled into him, his gold cloak pulling the rest of his shirt fabric into Sylvain. Claude’s eyes widen to meet Sylvain’s, and in those eyes no conversation is needed to know what Sylvain needs. 

There’s a moment where Claude purses his lips together, but Sylvain makes the decision for him. Before they know it, they’re in a spot where the walls are too high and tight, where the only sounds are the birds and the crickets, the rustling fabric. 

The kiss is slow. There’s a hesitation but Sylvain ignores it in favor of hooking one arm on Claude’s waist, the other to pin a wrist. Claude plays with Sylvain’s hair, clutching the strands to pull when he needs to breathe. It’s a fever-- this desire he cannot name. But Sylvain knows the shape well enough, the fire in him knowing nothing else but to consume. 

And yet when Claude whispers, “Sylvain, is this what you need?” 

“No,” there’s too much of Sylvain in the moment, he doesn’t think about the words coming out of his mouth in between trails of saliva. “You’re what I need.” 

And Claude… changes. 

Something about Claude wants to turn away again, but Sylvain doesn’t want to give him that chance-- he cups Claude’s face and kisses him-- deeply-- plunging his tongue like a lance, a thorn in a rose, groaning. Claude gasps in his mouth, but Sylvain licks his lips to turn Claude’s head and attack his neck--the stripe where his neck meets his ear--as if to say, _please, Claude, please_ \-- 

“Sylv--” 

“...and then I said,” They hear from the corner of the walls, a chattering of students. The response is immediate-- like Claude remembers he has hands and holds one of them quickly onto Sylvain’s mouth. Sylvain pulls away quickly, and they’re silent, as if trying to mask their own heartbeats. Normally, Sylvain wouldn’t mind to be spotted, but for Claude, somehow he wants this to just be private-- that no one should see Claude like this, and no one should see what Claude can do to him. 

The corners of the spot shadow them well enough that no one would see them granted they didn’t look too close in the tight alleway. Sylvain knows Claude knows this, because Claude’s eyes turn cold. The students are passing by, but Sylvain can’t bring himself to look at the group of three? Five? Kids walking around, talking about their day, when Claude is in front of him, looking like he’s fighting his way out of a pinch in the battlefield the way a tactician would. Sylvain is mesmerized. 

It makes Sylvain want to drop to his knees. 

He can still hear the kids talking, laughing, and he knows they aren’t safe. But he slides his tongue across Claude’s palm, making Claude snap his attention towards Sylvain. Sylvain brings his hand to Claude’s wrist to trap his hand there as he begins to lick across Claude’s fingers. 

_What the fuck are you doing_ , is the expression on Claude’s surprised face- but Sylvain only answers through his tongue, watching every movement on the lines of Claude, as if daring him to look away. His fingers are long, and slender, and as Sylvain coats his saliva in between the digits, he feels Claude shudder and that’s all the approval Sylvain needs to suck. 

Claude isn’t immune to him, and Sylvain feels like floating as he takes two of Claude’s fingers in his mouth. There’s a glassy look in Claude’s eyes and he exhales in measured breaths, each a silent moan. If they move too quickly, someone might see their movements in the shadows, so Claude bends his leg slightly, pushing his knee upwards and in between Sylvain’s legs. Sylvain almost chokes at the pressure. He feels sweat trickling down as Claude continues to rub with slow motions, and Sylvain plants his feet on the ground as if to ground himself from losing all control. 

Every part of Sylvain is submitting to Claude. 

Claude’s knee hits a damp spot and Sylvain’s breath hitches, and he peppers deep kisses on the tips of Claude’s fingers. Time passes like dripping honey, and it takes all of Sylvain’s concentration to not rut against Claude’s leg-- so he thrusts slowly, experimentally, but it makes Claude throw his head back, neck exposed. Sylvain smirks and does it again, biting back a moan at how good it is. Claude responds by thrusting his thumb into Sylvain’s mouth, which Sylvain immediately wraps a tongue around, saliva dripping on Claude’s hand like a dog. 

Until finally, the students take their leave, and Sylvain and Claude dive in so quickly their teeth clash. Sylvain slams Claude onto the wall, their chests together. “Mmm, did I get you worked up, sweetheart?” Sylvain whispers in Claude’s ear, nibbling the flesh around the earring after. 

“Could say the same about yourself, _sweetheart_ ,” Claude huffs, breathier than usual. 

Claude puffs out his chest to push Sylvain, which momentarily knocks Sylvain off balance only for Claude to drop to his knees. 

“Oh, _baby--_ ” He watches Claude feather a hand across his stomach, teasing the flesh peeking out of his clothes. Claude takes the zipper in his teeth and pulls down, Sylvain places his arm against the wall to brace himself. He gasps as Claude licks a long stripe, gripping Sylvain’s length with his slicked hand. 

“Don’t tease,” Sylvain moans. 

“Don’t move,” Claude whispers.

Sylvain’s transfixed on Claude-- the way his eyelashes flutter as he wraps his lips around the tip, the wet heat making Sylvain see stars. When Claude begins to suck, Sylvain bites on his wrist, strong enough to draw blood, to keep his noises in, breath heavy against his skin. He brings a shaky hand to grip Claude’s locks as the latter bobs his head up and down, faster, _harder_ ; and Sylvain begins to fuck Claude’s mouth. 

Claude chokes against it, but when Claude moans, oh-- Sylvain’s spouting profanities in every tremor in his throat. Tears gather in Claude’s eyes, but there’s magic in those green lens-- the way they pin Sylvain down-- the way they tell him, _you’re mine for now_. 

“Fuck, Claude, pull out,” Sylvain feels the familiar wave of heat pooling, and he pulls on Claude’s hair. “Baby, pull out,” he moans the last word. Claude grips Sylvain’s thighs and sucks harder. 

“Claude, _please,_ ” Sylvain begs, but Claude only looks at him, deeply, and continues. 

Sylvain _screams_. 

His hand muffles most of it, but he still hopes no one was near enough to hear. 

“Claude, pull out, baby,” Sylvain thighs tremble as he throws his head back. “Please, fuck--” A gasp. “Sweetheart, I can’t-- _please_ ,” It’s a struggle to keep his balance as Claude swallows every drop. “I can’t--” Until the pleasure becomes hurtful. 

“Please, please, please--” Sylvain repeats it like a prayer until Claude finally pulls out, fluid trickling down from his chin. 

In a breathless haze, Sylvain grips Claude upwards and kisses him again. It barely registers that he’s tasting himself upon Claude’s tongue until the fog clears in his head.

“Stay with me.” Sylvain says, as he pulls out. 

“What?” Claude exhales. 

“Even just for tonight, stay with me.” 

Claude considers it for a moment. 

“We have unfinished business,” Sylvain insists, or tries to, despite how tired he is. He lowers his sight to Claude’s lap, the tent still obvious. “Let me in, Claude,” Sylvain wraps his hands around Claude. 

It’s intimate, the way skin sticks against bodies, Claude’s warm breath against Sylvain’s neck. They stay like that, warm and sticky, as relaxed as marble statues. Claude’s arms wrap against Sylvain’s waist in response. 

“Please, Claude.” 

It’s a hug. 

* * *

Sylvain dreams of Claude. 

In the dark, Claude aims for Sylvain’s nipple, miscalculates, and bites instead at his heart. 

* * *

A loud thud jolts Sylvain awake. His limbs stretch in a panic, and he hits something soft in his side, pushing it off the bed. 

“Ow!” A hurtful sound erupts from it. It’s Claude. 

“You hit me on the jaw,” Claude groans, sleep evident in his groggy voice as he rubs his hand at the spot where Sylvain had hit. 

“Claude? Wh--” Sylvain registers the gold room decorations. “Oh,” He says. “Sorry.” 

“Yeah, oh.” Claude yawns and crawls up, discomfort on his face as he lies back down and buries his face in the pillows. _The pillows with drool all over it_ , Sylvain thinks. Sylvain rubs his eyes to adjust to the early glow of Claude’s room. “What fell earlier?” Claude asked, the words barely understandable in the muffled pillows. 

Sylvain glances at the foot of the bed. “Looks like some books fell.” He says. There are a few books to his side, too, one of them under his pillow. Some of the pages he had crumpled in his sleep, but he decides not to tell Claude that. Claude turns his head to the side, and peeks a sleepy eye at Sylvain. “Did you at least get to see what chapters they were on?” 

Sylvain raises his eyebrow, not unkindly. “I think you know the answer.” 

Claude whines into the bed. 

Sylvain lies back down, slowly, the remnants of sleep still clouding over his head. He turns his head to watch Claude return to snooze. Claude is…

He’s a mess. 

Sylvain wants to say he looks beautiful in morning light, but he’s never seen Claude so domestically unkempt. Claude drools in his sleep. They are sleeping with ten (eight now) books on the bed, a thousand bookmarks scattered in the pages. Claude seems to have never even folded his bedsheets properly. There are arrows on the floor, and a dying flower on the table . 

Sylvain is still a noble-- he notices these things. Just not during the heat of it. 

And yet he finds himself smiling. 

Sylvain smiles as he watches Claude breathe. It seems the bedroom does have its own magic while it trickles dust against the creeping sunlight, framing their bodies in pale warmth. Chests rising and falling with no urgency, the hair in Claude’s braid sticking out in different directions. 

“I’ve never seen you like this.” Sylvain chuckles, voice low. He moves a bit towards Claude, just enough for their arms to nudge in a casual manner. 

“Yeah?” Claude opens his eyes again to meet Sylvain’s. “How so?” 

“So…” _human_ and _real_ are the words that want to escape out of Sylvain’s lips, but he goes against it to gesture vaguely around Claude. Claude laughs at his lack of words. “You can say messy, it’s true.” 

“That’s what I was going to say.” Sylvain lies, smiling. 

It’s silent for a moment. 

“I want to wake up to you like this all the time.” The words come out of Sylvain’s mouth before he can stop them. 

Claude’s eyebrows knit as he rips his gaze away from Sylvain. “Um,” he coughs. “Messy?”

“No, I--” Sylvain shakes his head. “I think I want to get to know you.” 

“I thought you hated me.” Claude murmurs, pulling away from Sylvain. Sylvain lets him, the bedsheet crumpling under their weight. 

“We do have a tendency to,” Sylvain thinks of the words, “get heated with each other.” Sylvain’s finger plays with the hem of Claude’s shirt, lifting it up slowly. Claude swats it away. 

“And we can’t have a conversation that doesn’t turn into one of us seducing the other.” Claude says smugly. 

“Baby, you started it,” Sylvain wraps his arm around Claude’s waist, pulling himself onto the shorter boy. “And you start these things in me.” When he’s close enough, he adjusts a leg over Claude until he’s on top of him, hands on the side of Claude’s face. Sylvain lowers his body gently, pressing onto Claude, and rolls his hips forward a bit. 

“Someone’s still feeling it.” Claude comments.

“I’m feeling something, alright.” Sylvain smirks. 

Under Sylvain, Claude angles his face to the left, facing Sylvain’s wrist. He kisses it tenderly, his lips as light as a butterfly. Sylvain swallows, and Claude smirks back at him-- as if once again, he’s known he’s won. In this angle, Claude’s neck exposed, all Sylvain wants to do now is bite it, that a simple act of gentleness from Claude makes Sylvain want to lash. 

Claude’s hand rises to meet Sylvain’s shoulder, and pushes him off. 

“You see what I mean?” He says, green eyes perceiving him. 

Sylvain backs off. “I--” 

He’s interrupted by a stomach growling. Sylvain flushes and Claude laughs heartily. 

“When you looked like you wanted to eat me, I didn’t think you meant literally.” Claude teases in between laughter. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sylvain lies back down beside Claude. “Wow, I didn’t even realize we didn’t eat dinner last night.” 

“You went right for it.” 

“And you’re acting like you didn’t have a say in it?” 

Claude rolls his eyes and pulls out an apple from a drawer under his bed. 

“You look like you needed it,” Claude hands it over to Sylvain. “Oh, this is clean.” 

“You just have fruits under your bed?” Syvlain takes it hesitantly. Claude looks at him, confused. “For when I get hungry.” He says simply. 

“An apple, huh.” Sylvain holds it in his hand, the light bouncing off its roundness. He doesn’t dare bite into it yet. “I always thought,” his other hand becomes aware of how close Claude is, and a finger slowly creeps its way closer, “I could take you out to dinner first.”

“Then you’ve got the order wrong.” Claude doesn’t look at him. 

Sylvain’s hand cups Claude’s, rubbing his finger against his palm. 

A wave of silence crashes onto them and they stay awhile next to each other. Sylvain feels like sand--the grains of it threatening to flow across Claude. With their hands together, Sylvain never wants to pull away. But as the sun continues to rise, the reality of morning seeps into their skin. Sylvain kisses Claude’s neck softly. 

He kisses near Claude’s adam’s apple, near his jaw, his cheek, his ear. 

In Sylvain’s mind, he remembers a girl. _“You’re always so sweet in the morning.”_ She tells him, and she says it like a goodbye. When the sunlight hits just right, Sylvain always leaves her gently.

When a harsh ray of sunlight falls on them through the curtains, bathing them in fresh light, Claude looks at him with gold fluttering in between his eyelashes. 

He tells Sylvain to go. 

* * *

“I hope this helps,” Marianne says nervously. 

“Always so sweet to me, Marianne.” He flirts with her, albeit uncomfortably. He wants to joke about how she’s got her hands around his face for a while, but bites his tongue against it. She looks nervous enough. There’s a bit of a bruise forming, but Marianne did agree to heal it as quick as she could before they got to class. 

“Um, I don’t think it’s my business, and I’m sorry if I’m asking, but…” 

“Why did he do it?” Sylvain finishes for her. “I’m not sure myself. Guess I’ll find out later.” 

When Sylvain left Claude’s room that morning, the next room’s door had opened to reveal Felix. Sylvain had tried to say hello, but Felix stomped his way to him and punched him in the face. The gravity of the punch must have surprised them both because they stared at each other for a while after, as if Felix himself was possessed by the action. Felix opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it and walked away. The doors of other students in the dormitory begin to open, and Sylvain had bolted for his room before anyone could see him, cheek stinging, without the chance of confronting Felix. 

“Thanks so much.” Sylvain winks. 

She doesn’t prod, knows better than to ask how Sylvain still smiled despite being hit. Sylvain adjusts his jaw and feels an ache. He can feel the bruise starting to heal a bit quicker, but as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, he feels a sharp pain underneath. But it’s not showing on his face, anyway, so he decides to pay it no mind. Sylvain’s insides heal on its own.

Sylvain walks into the classroom with a clean face.Felix catches his eye, and Sylvain smiles at him until he looks away. 

For the rest of the lectures, he’s playing against the dull ache with his tongue. 

It’s after class when Felix finally walks up to him with a tense stance, the other students leaving the classroom already. 

“I don’t understand how the boar can stand you.” He says, avoiding Sylvain’s gaze. 

“That’s not nice, Felix,” Sylvain replies. “After all, last I checked, we both willingly left him.” 

It comes out a bit harsher than he expected. But Felix swallows as if accepting that he had deserved that. 

“It’s just…I didn’t....” Felix tries. “Last night you were loud--” He glares at Sylvain. “--stop it.” 

“I accept your apology.” Sylvain laughs. 

“That wasn’t an apology.” 

“So you aren’t apologizing?” 

Felix crosses his arms. “That’s not what I said.” 

“Hey, it’s okay. You wanna go to town?” Sylvain relaxes in his chair. For effect, Sylvain brings a hand to where Felix had hit him and rubs the cheek lightly. 

“I have to train.” Felix replies immediately, like an automated response, yet his gaze remains on Sylvain’s cheek. “But I...suppose just this once.” 

Felix looks down only for a split second, but Sylvain catches it. Sylvain’s familiar with guilt. But sometimes he takes what he can get. 

“I missed you.” 

Felix grunts in response. 

Walking with Felix had always calmed Sylvain down. For a while, Sylvain remembers Glenn, who was just around his age when they were young. Back when they were too affectionate for their own good. 

Sylvain had hurt Felix, once, because of how small he was. He wasn’t sure what to make of Glenn and Felix before, Sylvain had never had it with Miklan. At the thought of a hurt Felix, who had always looked up to him and Glenn with those bright eyes, Sylvain had wanted to cry. 

“Don’t cry,” Glenn scolded him in whispers. “We’re older than him. You hurt him, you have to be able to fix it.” 

Sometimes, even just in passing, Sylvain thinks of Glenn, and the heavy silence that spilled over all of them when he died. You hurt us all, Glenn, he thinks. But Sylvain knocked on Ingrid’s locked doors, held Dimitri’s cold hands, and smiled at Felix’s dim eyes. After all, this was also the year Miklan was disowned by their family, and two girls were currently fighting over him, and his parents told him twice as more that they loved him, and he was growing his hair out. 

It all passed like smoke. 

And now, he left them all. And if Felix followed, perhaps it isn’t Sylvain’s fault if he wants to savor the shadow of footsteps beside him. In the back of his mind, his father’s voice creeps in: that he will inherit House Gautier. Until that, everything will pass. So if it will open Ingrid’s door enough for light to pass through the creaks, warm Dimitri’s fingers enough for him to grip gently, lighten enough of Felix for him to step out of the battlefield, it’s enough for Sylvain. 

It’s an exchange: Sylvain trades his hurt to lift the hurt of others, in a way. And when a body demands, his body is there to give. 

* * *

Sylvain sees it one day. 

Byleth and Claude in the courtyard, drinking tea. 

She looks too close and a red tingle sprawls against Claude’s face. He fumbles with his braid as they talk in voices too small for Sylvain to hear. 

When Sylvain sees them, it’s like staring into the sun. 

Sylvain thinks briefly of fire, and how he's never truly been the flames--just the ashes, long consumed. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the dark, he aims   
> for my nipple, 
> 
> miscalculates, and bites  
> at my heart.
> 
> \- Mark Anthony Cayanan, Body with Another   
> (Narcissus, 2011; Published by Ateneo de Manila University Press)

“I’m all sweaty.” A sigh. “You okay down there, big boy?” 

“Never better, babe.” Sylvain’s head emerges from in between Hilda’s thighs, wiping his mouth with his arm, then wiping his arm on the bedsheet. 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you don’t wanna,” she trails her gaze down his suggestively, “or at least--” Hilda brings up her fist into her hand, gesturing it towards her open mouth. 

“Ha! You really wanna do that?” Sylvain teases. Hilda thinks. “Yeah, not really.” She replies. “If you don’t want me to return it, I’m fine with not returning it. Plus last time you got some on my hair.” 

“You smacked me for that. I won’t lie, it hurt a lot.” 

“Sylvain, you got some  _ on my hair _ .” 

“Prissy. You want another one?” Sylvain wiggles his eyebrows, leaning his head back down. 

“Mmm, no.” Hilda shifts, bringing the strands of her hair to over the pillow. “You want to make out again instead?” She props herself on her elbows as Sylvain makes his way on top of her. 

“Anything for that cute face,” he says before pressing his lips against hers. Sylvain places himself flush against Hilda’s chest, careful not to accidentally squish hair strands in between them. Hilda brings her hands onto Sylvain’s naked back, digging her nails into his skin. Sylvain moans, tilting his head back. Hilda takes it as an opportunity to lick at Sylvain’s neck, all the way to his ear-- then captures his lips once more as she thrusts her hips slightly upwards. 

“Mm, wait-- wait,” Sylvain says, placing a hand on Hilda’s thigh, pushing it a bit down. Hilda brings her legs down. 

“Wow, you are really not feeling it, huh?” she lets go of him. 

“No, I am. We can continue--” even Sylvain can tell how half-hearted his words sound. 

“I don’t want to if you’re not that into it. That just means I have to do twice the effort,” she sighs. “That’s too much energy.” 

Sylvain lays back down beside her. “Sorry, Hilda. I guess I just haven’t been feeling it lately.” 

Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up next to him. “That’s rare of you.” 

Sylvain sighs. 

“Hilda, we’re friends right?” 

“I mean, I guess.” She teases. 

“Haha. Okay, I have to ask you something.” 

“My hand in marriage? No.” 

“In your dreams, baby girl. Anyway, this is serious!” 

Hilda smiles and rolls her eyes playfully. “Okay, fine. Listening for real.” 

A beat of silence. “Actually, can we--” Sylvain starts and he turns towards her, bringing her closer. Hilda’s puzzled, but copies his movements until he embraces her, his chin on her pink hair, his arms enclosing her smaller frame. “Sylvain, I’m going to think you’re about to tell me you’re in love with me.” 

Sylvain falls quiet, his thumb tracing the hints of Hilda’s muscles. 

“Sylvain?” Hilda attempts to look up, awkwardly placing her arm around him. 

“Do you think it was right for me to switch classes to Golden Deer?” 

Hilda blinks. 

“I. Um. I’m not the best person to ask?” 

Sylvain isn’t letting go of her, so Hilda shimmies her way closer to Sylvain’s face. 

“Well, I would say yes, because I love everyone in it. But come to think of it… you did switch classes as soon as the professor came around. Did you try asking her about it?” 

“I think I might have scared her off.” Sylvain chuckles. 

“I doubt it. What did you do? Was it her new look?” 

Sylvain thinks back to Byleth, and how her eyes and hair have changed into a light green-- the green of a plant in morning dew. He remembers thinking how ethereal she looked, the reflection of the sky spilling against her features, each strand perfect in the light. He remembers his shadow over her, the way she had looked up to him in equal parts confusion and guarding. Her fingers twitch at her sides the way they would around a sword when he comes near. 

“I might have threatened her a little.” Sylvain tells Hilda.

“I don’t think she’s the type to feel threatened by you.” Hilda chuckles. 

In the memory Byleth feels so much bigger than Sylvain. Maybe even bigger than all of them, than the church, than Foldan itself. Sylvain keeps his smile neutral, his eyes twinkling just the right amount, but as Byleth grows each crack against his face stings his skin. 

Byleth is beautiful. 

And he’s so far away from her. 

So it slips out of Sylvain’s lips, as easy as truths usually do, like sand in between his hands. 

“I should kill you.” He tells her, and means every word. 

In his head, he brews a half-baked murder. It takes place in the courtyard, with tea spilling and blood against the walls, someone screaming until it becomes winter-- until the courtyard becomes a well, until Sylvain’s body becomes a tall child’s. And all the lovers never become lovers again, just lifeless bodies, desperate as Sylvain thrusts a lance. Byleth and Claude will see him before their last moments and never know of love, and Sylvain will never teach them, will never give them the privilege of being buried in the ground. 

“What’s making you question it?” Hilda returns Sylvain in the present, making her way to look into his eyes. 

“Not sure myself, honestly. Just a thought.” Sylvain combs Hilda’s hair with his fingers, watching the pink strands fall around his hand. In his mind, the strands are a different color, and he shuts his eyes to pretend that they are. Hilda cups him in a hug as Sylvain presses close, his lips on Hilda’s forehead. 

“Hard to make decisions, huh? I hear ya.” Hilda sighs. “Well, think about it this way… what do you want?” 

“Huh?” 

“What do you want, Sylvain?” 

“Like right now?” 

Hilda huffs. “No, dummy, in life.” 

Sylvain tries to think, but it all comes to him in waves. He feels Hilda breathe next to him. 

In, out. In, out. 

* * *

“ _ Sylvain _ …” 

A girl’s voice-- Hilda’s? 

“Sylvain….” 

Probably Hilda, the syllables keep layering over each other. Sylvain feels drunk. Has he been drinking--no-- he hasn’t been drinking lately, hasn’t had the time. Goddess, his head hurts-- 

“Sylvain!” 

Not Hilda. Sylvain snaps his eyes open. 

“Professor?” He slurs out. 

“He’s awake. Marianne, fall back, you’re in charge of him.” Byleth commands. She’s got a hand around his collarbone, he feels the chill of white magic. 

Marianne has three soldiers with her, lifting Sylvain up. “Wait I--” Sylvain starts, his eyes scan the scene as quickly as possible. 

Right. Bandits. 

And really tough ones, too-- Sylvain’s entire body feels heavy but he can recognize as thief's clothes-- he holds his axe, shaky, and throws it to a body right behind Marianne. Marianne gasps in shock as the axe narrowly hits her, the bandit screaming as the blade hits his skin. 

“I can still fight,” He says to the soldiers, the surprise evident in their faces as they attempt to hold Sylvain up. He’s a frontliner-- Byleth had made sure of it-- letting him take exams and giving him silver weapons. In each thankful accomplishment he’s received from her, he’s bit his cheek from the inside. Sylvain joked to her once that he fights well in the front lines because he’s prepared to die at any moment. She doesn’t laugh, and neither does he. In the end, he’s not sure if it had truly come out of his mouth as a joke. Byleth had never mentioned Sylvain’s threat again-- and Sylvain pretends she had believed it when he said he was joking.

“Fall back, Sylvain. That’s a warning.” Byleth tells him. Her head snaps to the side to find one of the demonic beasts targeting Ignatz, and she uses magic against it immediately. “Marianne, take him and go!” Byleth doesn’t bother looking back to know they’re listening. 

“I--” 

“Sylvain, retreat.” Claude comes up from behind Byleth, as swift as the arrow he had shot. “Now.” He commands. The battle fades away in an instant-- the soldiers, the trees, the beast becoming gray like fog-- the gold of Claude’s cloak glimmering in the lone sun. 

Claude stands in front of a weakened Sylvain-- and it isn’t an unfamiliar sight. His voice echoes in Sylvain’s ears with the same hum of a heartbeat. 

“I can still--” but it’s fruitless. He can die, his mind is screaming, he can be left here, and the others, the professor, Claude, can keep going. 

Perhaps it was a haze from whatever had hit him that caused it. Perhaps it was the fog, perhaps there was still magic ringing in his brain but Sylvain had shoved a soldier. And as Claude turned away from him to shoot another arrow, Sylvain raises his fist and lunges at Claude. 

Then it happens quickly-- a magic engulfs him from behind him, and his knees hit the ground. There’s a thrum in his body. He gasps for air. 

Claude turns to him, shocked, and Sylvain vaguely wants to memorize that face of his, the first time and maybe the last he’ll ever see that expression sprawled against Claude’s beautiful face until he becomes too blurry for Sylvain to see clearly. There isn’t any sound left now.

Sylvain looks at his fist, his energy to hold it tight is gone but it won’t loosen-- he can no longer feel it. His heartbeat hums violently in his bones. He feels for his heart, the tiny organ only as big as a fist. 

He closes his eyes with the memory of a thousand hands on his body. 

* * *

Sylvain wakes in an infirmary tent with what feels like a morning after drinking too much of his father’s wine. It’s nighttime and he appreciates it, the glow of the tent’s lamps not as harsh as sunlight. 

“I asked Teach if I could meet you before anyone else.” 

“Claude?” The ghost of sleep is still in Sylvain’s voice as he adjusts to see Claude sitting on a desk chair next to his bed, reading a pocket book against the light, a lazy smile on his face as a greeting. “What happened?” 

“Those bandits had one mage. They got you,” Claude explains. “Though nothing too serious at first. You got knocked over and hit your head. I guess Teach knew you were going to pass out from those damages so she asked Marianne to get you out of here.” 

“Am I…” Sylvain’s eyes focus around him. 

“You’re okay, Sylvain.” Claude says, earnest. “You weren’t going to die.” 

Sylvain swallows, his jaw tightening as he nods in response to Claude’s words. 

“But you did disobey orders. You’ll have to hear from Teach... oh, and Marianne-- you scared her a little there.” Claude says the last sentence with a laugh, his easy voice lifting the mood. 

“Like I could die from something like that.” Sylvain laughs weakly. 

“Sure.” Of course Claude sees through it. 

“So we’re back to this again, huh?” Sylvain rubs the back of his head lightly, there’s an impact, alright. It’s a bit painful, but he feels the familiar medicine of white magic working itself slowly, as well as a whiff of herbs. 

“As if we had gone anywhere from it?” Claude replies, eyeing Sylvain’s hand. It’s a rhetorical question, but Sylvain presses his fingers into the painful part as if just to both answer and challenge Claude into stopping him. 

“Really, Sylvain.” Claude says again, like a punctuation to his previous statement. 

Claude is close enough to Sylvain, brown eyes meeting jewelled green. 

“Hey,” Sylvain starts, but no other words come out. 

“Hi.” Claude finishes for him. 

A tiny voice in Sylvain’s head tells him to let his body do the talking, and he leans towards Claude slowly, the way vines crawl up a wall. Claude watches the movement, allowing Sylvain to move forward. Sylvain licks his lips as his own hand, peppered with tiny cuts and blisters from the last battle cups Claude’s face. Claude snakes a hand to wrap around it. It’s too tender, too sweet-- and Sylvain kisses him. 

Claude reciprocates-- they share a kiss, a slow one, with no sense of direction. Sylvain grabs Claude and maneuvers them until he’s on top of Claude, his shadow overtaking the smaller man’s body. Weakly, he thinks if he’s allowed to do this, but as their tongues move around each other, his body can’t complain to the position.

As always, it’s Claude who pulls away, but Sylvain accepts his leave like it was never meant to stay. “Don’t think this going to make me forget.” Claude smiles. “You tried to kill me there, didn’t you?” 

“I didn’t think you were capable of making a face like that.” Sylvain whispers, almost like a murmur. 

“Like someone killing me is no big deal?” Claude scoffs. “I’m glad I got to see a genuine emotion out of you, then.” 

“Don’t these eyes look genuine?” Sylvain smirks. Claude is close enough for Sylvain to see his own reflection in his irises.. “As genuine as I am.” Claude smiles politely. 

A pause. 

“Sylvain wh--” Claude begins. 

“Claude, I--” Sylvain says before Claude can finish the sentence, “I’m in love with you.” 

“--y do you hate me?” 

Their breath hitches. 

“Right.” Claude sounds less confident, which to Sylvain, should be savory, but instead he feels cold. 

“I don’t hate you,” Sylvain says, hurriedly, as if realizing what he just told Claude, desperate not to take it back. “I said I wanted to get to know you.” 

Claude’s eyebrows raise, and he lifts Sylvain off him. 

“My friend,” his voice emphasizes the word-- “you  _ hate  _ me.” 

“Oh, because you can see right through me, you can say that?” Sylvain retorts. “If I hated you, could I do this--” Sylvain brings Claude’s face into his and presses their lips together again. Claude pushes him. 

“Yes. You do that because you hate me.” Claude says simply. “And this,” he takes Sylvain hand’s in his, a cruel grip. “This tried to kill me.” 

Sylvain pulls it away harshly, severing the rest of the conversation. The flames in the lamp flicker slightly in their silence. 

“Earlier you said you were glad to see genuine emotion out of me.” Sylvain says. “Were you just trying to test me?” 

Claude closes his eyes in thought. “Liars attract liars, I guess.” 

Sylvain nods hesitantly. “I’ve just never been so angry.” The memory of his fist repeats itself in his memory. 

“Oh no, you’re always angry, Sylvain.” Claude begins to get up. Memories of rage flood through Sylvain in that moment, with the faces of the Gautier men. “That’s why you kissed me.” Claude continues. Sylvain shuts down the memories with a blink, keeping the rest of the hurricane inside of him. “That’s why you kiss everyone.” 

Sylvain watches Claude stand. “Lie to me again.” 

Claude gives him a look, but smiles gently. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Sylvain smiles back.

“Does that feel better?” Claude asks, the smile fading quickly. 

“No.” 

“Thought so.” 

“At least tell me why you don’t want to try and love me?” 

“Why I don’t want to tr--” Claude shakes his head and exhales. “Sylvain, I have things I want to do. Things I want to happen. And I’m going to be alive for it.” 

“And what, the professor’s part of that?” Sylvain spits. 

“Yes.” Claude glares at him, but catches himself-- brings up his lips to curl into a smile. “It isn’t my fault if you don’t know what you want.” 

Sylvain stands, and comes close to Claude. 

“I hate you.” He tries to say, but his body does the talking for him. Claude takes it like that-- on the tent wall, in the infirmary bed. Sylvain tries to sink his fingers into Claude’s fingers, and if gaps fill gaps, Sylvain takes it as intimacy. 

* * *

Byleth sees Sylvain in the early morning, before they travel back to the monastery. 

She remains stern but forgives him eventually. “You couldn’t have died from something like that.” She says, and Sylvain wished he had the confidence she had towards him. 

“There’s food from the nearby townspeople. They’re grateful to you, you know,” she smiles at him as they walk towards the horses. “Two buildings in the village saved by you.” 

“Passed out, though.” Sylvain chuckles.

“That is true.” She nods. “But even if you hadn’t seen it, those people would not have been this happy if not for your actions.” 

It’s a sentence that makes Sylvain feel pathetic when she says it, kindness radiating off of her in the gentlest of waves. To think of him in such high regard-- he smiles at her but feels bile in his throat.

Claude passes by once, and Sylvain catches his gaze. He holds it there, pins him down like that-- as if looking away is a defeat to a competition long lost. But Claude holds it like that as well, as if to choose to look away was beating a dead horse. 

Back in the monastery, Felix finds Sylvain vomiting. 

Felix is silent, but offers Sylvain water after the remaining retches. 

“Thank you, Felix,” Sylvain rasps out after drinking it. Felix hums with a lack of regular insults, his arms crossed as he looks at Sylvain, then away. 

“Must have gotten dizzy from the horses.” Sylvain explains. “Or the magic, or somethi--” 

“I could have given you anything.” Felix cuts sharply. 

“What?” 

“That drink. It could have been anything.” 

Sylvain stares at the cup Felix had offered. “Wasn’t it water?” 

Felix huffs. “It was water.” He says bitterly, closing his eyes. 

“Fe,” Sylvain says softly, the nickname affectionate. “I don’t see why you’re worked up.” 

Felix takes a deep breath, and then punches Sylvain. Sylvain doesn’t dodge, but Felix’s fist collides with the wall instead, as if the black haired boy had changed its course midway. 

“You’re always like this!” Felix snaps. 

“It’s just water.” Sylvain’s brow furrows. 

“But it could have been anything, Sylvain!” Felix inhales. “I could have given you anything and you didn’t even question it, you just placed it in your filthy mouth.” 

Sylvain processes Felix’s words. “Because I trust you…” he says slowly, “is that so bad?” 

“Sure you do.” Felix composes himself, his voice softer than it had been when he snapped. “You say you trust me then lie through your teeth. Then the next thing I know you’re leaving the boar. The next thing I know you’re barfing out the meat you earned.” 

“Fe, I--” 

“Don’t. You can’t call me that.” Felix turns. 

“Felix, then,” Sylvain says. “Felix, don’t go, Felix--” When he takes Felix’s arm, it’s as if a dam they didn’t know existed breaking. Sylvain’s eyes blur, and his heart feels like stone sinking down a well. 

Felix watches Sylvain cry, surprise on his face. “Anyone but you, Felix.” Sylvain chokes out, and Felix turns to him, holding the grip on his arm clumsily, as if Felix didn’t know what to do with this touch. 

“I didn’t want--” Sylvain’s voice sounds like a plea, “you to see me like this. I wanted to hide it from you.” 

Felix’s eyes move frantically around Sylvain, and tries to hold the taller boy in comfort-- their movements hesitant like a language they haven’t learned together. “Hide it from me?” Felix scoffs. “I’m not someone who needs to be protected.” 

In the trickle of light from the windows Sylvain sees Felix in a field, much smaller than he was. Felix was so little when Sylvain harmed him. “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again,” Sylvain says, genuine, his voice high and tiny for a child his age. “I hate you and I’m never forgiving you.” Felix hiccups, snot dripping from his nose as he hides his face in his hands.

“Hey now,” Sylvain had said then, taking out a handkerchief from his pocket. He tries to dry Felix’s eyes until he calms down. “I’m so sorry, Fe, you’re my best friend.” Felix ponders over that, the way a child does with magic, and leans forward and kisses Sylvain’s cheek. 

“Oh!” Sylvain says, immediately brightening up. “Does that mean you forgive me?” 

Felix blushes. “No.” 

Later Glenn teases Sylvain acting like he’s hurt. “Felix only ever kisses my cheek!” He whines playfully. In their embarrassed silence Glenn laughs, radiant, the way Glenn has always been. “He must look up to you. Be good to him.” Felix tells him to shut up, and Sylvain sees the three of them laughing together until they’re joined by Ingrid and Dimitri in the summer sun. 

But those days bathed in light are long gone. 

Sylvain had walked away from it. 

And for what? 

Felix sits next to where Sylvain is slumped, his tears finally drying as he wipes his own face with his hands. They keep a space between them. “You’ve changed, Felix.” He says. “You don’t need protecting.” 

“I know that.” Felix says cautiously. 

“I think I did it to protect myself.” Sylvain sighs. 

“You’re so stupid.” 

Sylvain laughs at that. 

“Will you leave me behind, Fe?” 

Felix lets the nickname slide. “If you keep going like this.” He replies. “I’ll have to. And me leaving will be the only kindness I can ever give you.” 

“Look at you, being so wise.” Sylvain says. 

Felix doesn’t reply. The two share another moment. 

“Leave Gautier.” Felix finally says. 

“What?” 

“Leave Gautier.” He repeats. “Leave it all. You can fight anyone, marry anyone, marry…” he pauses. “Marry him. I don’t know. Run away.” 

“I have responsibilities, Felix.” The statement comes out hollow.

“Fine, do what you want. Keep sabotaging everyone who wants to be with you.” 

“Those women don’t want me. And neither does… you know already.” 

Felix glares at him as if Sylvain had gotten something wrong in an exam, but Felix looks down, letting go of whatever set him off. “But he’s the only one you haven’t pushed away.” Felix says, not giving Sylvain the chance to ask about what was wrong. 

Sylvain pauses at that. “I haven’t pushed you away.” 

“Maybe not yet.” Felix replies without a beat. 

“Then stay with me now.” Sylvain says. “Stay with me right here. What matters to me is what’s happening right now, okay? I don’t have to think about anything else.” 

“Of course that’s how you think.” Felix says, but he doesn’t move away-- as if he doesn’t have the strength to. Their pinky fingers touch behind them, as if there was a promise waiting to happen, with no one initiating. Sylvain allows himself that. “I don’t understand you.” Felix looks away from him. “Do you love him, truly, Sylvain?” 

“I want to be loved by someone like him.” 

“You know that isn’t the same as loving him.” 

Sylvain ignores it and Felix sighs. 

“Something bad will happen,” Felix whispers. “I feel that something bad is going to happen in the Holy Tomb next week.” 

“Bad, huh?” 

“What will you do then?” Felix asks. 

Sylvain hums. 

In his mind, he thinks only of gold, flapping against the wind until it becomes a flicker. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading my fic!!! as a thank you present, please have this mixtape i made that inspired me to put it into words: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1bHgLrdJvnr6kg7LEEz8vp?si=9iaj-iQST--0i2lq5uZt4A
> 
> 1\. yes, i was also inspired by little women (2019) all my homies love little women (2019)  
> 2\. my twitter is @dallsay! i'm much more active there and i would love to be friends we can talk and stuff if you want ; _ ;   
> 3\. if you liked my fic, i would really appreciate it if you could leave me a kudos/comment <3 
> 
> this is my longest fic here...... i hate to say it but i might actually like sylva- sylv-- sylvai-- i cant say it bleghhh

**Author's Note:**

> my twt: @dallsay ;^D


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